Doubts
by Pondering42
Summary: Martin has some doubts, and John tries to remedy them.  JohnxMartin


**My first attempt at some hurt/comfortness, but it's not really about that. It's more about my first ever attempt at writing smut. Haha!**

**Either way, constructive criticism is welcome, but also understand that this is my first attempt, and I apologize for any discrepancies. I also apologize if the angsty bits are disbelieving. If anything, it's more about the smut. If I ever do something like this again, I'll try and make it more believable. Although, I may not actually do something like this again. I'm usually more prudish, and it took me _forever_ to write this out because I kept slamming my laptop shut and tried gathering my wits so I could continue. That's how fretful I got about the smut. XD**

**Anyway, enjoy my first foray at making word porn.**

* * *

><p>Martin loved John.<p>

He didn't want to sound like a teenager and say it was love at first sight, but when he first saw the ex-army doctor striding across the airfield several months ago, he had to admit, he felt something very close to that. Of course, he felt like an idiot, stuttering nervously when they spoke, but any embarrassment vanished when all John gave him was a warm smile, his number, and a peck on the cheek before asking him out to dinner.

And now, after several long months of dinners, coffees, or quiet nights in when Sherlock was busy and they snuggled and snogged on the sofa; Martin felt something he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel: He felt loved.

Still, Martin had his doubts.

He wasn't an idiot, despite what some might want to argue. He knew that he bared some uncanny similarities to that of John's friend, colleague, and flatmate Sherlock Holmes. He knew they looked alike, and he begrudgingly admitted that the consulting detective most definitely looked better than he did. Still, his heart fought off his doubts as much as it could. That John really wasn't dating him because he looked like his flatmate, and that he was dating Martin for… well, Martin. Martin's mind, however, went with his insecurities. That Martin was nothing special, nowhere _near_ as special as Sherlock bloody Holmes. That it was more likely that sweet, loving John was really using him because he couldn't get what he really wanted.

It didn't help that both Douglas and Carolyn spoke of their concerns on their last flight when he said he was meeting with John as soon as they got home. He was doing so well before those conversations, fighting off his doubts and insecurities. Afterwards, however, he met with John that evening with a heart that felt a little more like lead that day.

So he was waiting. Waiting for John to slip up. For John to reveal his true desires, and Martin, despite the cold feeling that he would be right, would undoubtedly break apart. Because the one man that made him feel truly loved really was using him.

His depressing thoughts were broken, however, after a thorough strike to his prostate that made him see stars and his vision came into a blurred focus at the man in his thoughts. John, laid out between his thighs, panting and flushed, had an iron-like grip on his hips as he bent his knees and began thrusting in earnest.

"Oh-! Oh, _fuck_!" The doctor hissed and Martin hissed as well as one hand strayed from his hips to grab his throbbing erection. "Oh _shit_, Martin!"

Martin's heart clenched at that last curse. It was so close to that name, that _dreadful_ name. He almost wanted John to just get it over with. Just say his name, even though hearing his own name in that ragged tone made his aching heart soar a little.

And he could feel how close John was. How his hips were beginning to stutter and increase in speed. And usually Martin would be right with him, even closer. Hell, even long gone in his orgasm now if it weren't for the dark thoughts plaguing him.

He couldn't get off like this, not with John saying his name, or with the feeling of John finally, finally reaching his own peak and heading into that heady afterglow.

He couldn't because it hurt too much.

And Martin flinched at another stroke of his now dwindling erection as John opened his eyes to look up at him in concern. "Martin?"

"Sorry." Martin murmured, rolling off of him, wincing at the loss of John's now limp member as he laid out on his side as John froze for a moment, then set out about ridding himself of the condom.

It was stupid of him. Absolutely stupid. _Why_ couldn't he just enjoy it while it lasted? Why did his thoughts have to ruin this for him?

Martin curled in on himself, jumping as he felt a surprisingly soft, gentle hand on his side.

"Martin, what's wrong?" John asked, hovering over him, moving the hand to encircle Martin around the waste. "Come on, talk to me."

"It's nothing." Martin choked out, cursing himself for being so emotional for this. To seem so weak, like he always was. "It's nothing. Forget it."

John then reached up with one hand and carded his fingers through damp, red curls. "I don't think it's nothing when it distracts you so much, and I really can't forget it, Martin, not when it's got you so worked up. Talking can help, you know. You can talk to me about anything, I thought you knew that." He whispered, pressing a kiss to Martin's temple. "It's fine, love. You can tell me."

Martin was shaking now, bottom lip trembling. He didn't want it to end now. He wanted to be blissfully ignorant for just a little longer. He truly loved John Watson.

But now…

"I know what you really want." Martin said, cursing at how high-pitched his voice was, feeling John freeze. "I know you want him. I know you're just with me because… because I _look_ like _him_. So just say it. Just say it and get it over with so we can both move on!"

John was frozen behind him and Martin whimpered; tears stinging at his eyes and he mentally berated himself for acting like such a whimp. He sniffled and swallowed, quickly and furiously wiping at his eyes, then stiffening when he felt strong hands manhandle and maneuver him so he laid on his back.

"Martin." John spoke, one surprisingly smooth hand rubbing a freckled cheek. "Martin, look at me."

Martin dared to open his eyes, ready to face the truth, only to feel surprised when he saw the hurt look that crossed the doctor's features.

"Is that what you think?" He asked, hurt and anger lacing his voice. "That I'm only with you because you happen to have the same cheekbones as Sherlock does?"

Martin snuffled, trying to remain firm. "It's not just the cheekbones, John!" He snapped, not even caring that he sounded like a child.

"Well, that's the only thing I can see that you have in common with Sherlock." John replied. "Because other than that, you're _nothing_ like him."

"Then why are you with me?" Martin finally asked. "Why are you wasting your time with me when you want _him_?"

"I don't _want_ him, Martin." John insisted. "My god, _living_ with the man can a pain in the arse on _good_ days! A relationship would be a bloody nightmare! I never wanted that with him! _Never_!"

Martin blinked up at him, still in disbelief. Because John really couldn't mean that. Absolutely not…

"Martin." John pushed on, thumb brushing the area underneath his eye socket. "Sherlock is only my friend. Despite what people stupidly think, you two look nothing alike. If you do, then I must be blind, because I don't see it."

John then leaned in, nuzzling Martin's other cheek and causing him to shudder. "Sherlock's a genius, I won't deny that, but he's more logic than emotions. Plus he's married to his work. He's nothing at all like you." He breathed, placing a wet, gentle kiss in the spot he was nuzzling. "And I _love_ you for that. I _love you_ for _who you are_."

"Why?" Martin whimpered, one hand clutching at John's good shoulder, still disbelieving, because John Watson? Wonderful, kind, badass-incarnate John Watson? Love _him_? Whimpy Martin Crieff, who failed his CPL several times, had to do two jobs, and lived in an attic room above a bunch of students?

"Why?" John repeated, looking at him. "Why what?"

Martin sniffled a little more, now leaning into John's feathery kisses to his cheek. "Why do you love me?"

"Because you're _you_…" John replied, laying down and snuggling up into Martin's side. "Because you get nervous and stutter and it's unbelievably endearing. Because you love your airline job, even though you don't get paid for it. Because you're sweet and you can blunder, and you can be funny. Because you don't let things get you down; you push through them with so much courage that I admire you for it."

Martin felt his face heat up, not just because of what John, _his _John, was saying, but because John was now peppering his face with kisses in-between his words and rubbing his hand on his stomach. It wasn't supposed to be arousing, either. It was supposed to be comforting. And it was.

"I can go on, you know…" John finally whispered, gently kissing him on the lips now, which Martin pressed into gently. "But can you see it, now? Why I don't want to be with my gangly pale vampire of a stubborn flatmate? Why I want _you_?"

Martin sniffled again, even though his tears were gone. "I don't know how you see that in me…" He murmured. "But I think I can see why you don't want him…" And then the guilt kicked in. "Oh, I'm so sorry, John. I was such an _idiot_. It's just that Douglas and Carolyn-."

John cut him off with a firmer kiss this time, which made Martin melt. "They don't really see us together that often. They only know that I have a flatmate that apparently kinda looks like you." He said. "But _I'm_ sorry, Martin. I'm sorry that I didn't make it clear enough for you."

"You shouldn't have to." Martin pressed. "I just need to stop being an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." John corrected, kissing him again. "You're brilliant."

And another kiss, which changed from gentle and reassuring to deep and passionate. Martin moaned into it, wrapping an arm around John's neck as he rolled to lie on top of him, and he automatically spread his legs for John to rest between them. After arranging themselves comfortably, flush against each other, John broke the kiss, nipping and kissing along Martin's jaw and spending an extra amount of time at the spot near Martin's ear, causing him to whimper.

"And I'm going to prove it to you." And that whimper turned into a sob.

John had spoke those words with such dark, rich, chocolaty promise that Martin didn't even have enough time to react as John started to assault his neck. He licked and kissed along any place that was visible above a collar, but once he reached a place that could barely be covered, it changed into nips and bites, even suckling in particular spots that caused Martin to arch his back, pushing his head further into the pillow underneath him to give John more access. John's mouth wasn't the only thing moving, however. He had lifted his body a bit to rub his hands all along Martin's torso, pausing to tweak a nipple or scratch gently at his sides. It should've been ticklish and painful, but instead it was arousing, and Martin felt it pooling deep inside his pelvis.

Once John seemed satisfied with his neck, he started moving down. He was using more teeth and tongue now, nipping at Martin's collarbone and using his tongue to connect Martin's freckles almost into constellations, as if his skin were a map of the night sky. And all Martin could do was pant and occasionally moan, lifting his hands, usually steady but now trembling, to comb through John's hair and caress his neck and shoulders. Every once in a while, he'd bring his lips into play again, suckling at particular patches of skin that made Martin buck and gasp, clenching fistfuls of hair and dragging nails across tanned skin, mindful of John's left shoulder. Always mindful.

Martin didn't really think that John would speak again now, not until he was done practically worshipping his body. He proved him wrong however, after a particularly forceful nip to the skin that stretched across Martin's sternum.

"You're so beautiful." John breathed against his skin, which was flushed from both embarrassment and pleasure. "So perfect, just like this. All bare, flushed and _pink_."

At "flushed" and "pink", John had paused to nip at both of Martin's nipples, causing him to whimper. John then took one into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and then sucking, making slurping noises that were downright obscene. Martin stopped caring about obscene and just pressed his hands to the back of John's head and neck, cradling him there as he writhed, feeling his arousal brush against John's stomach with a subconscious buck of his hips, making him aware of just how turned on he was getting.

"How could no one know how wonderful you are…?" John whispered as he moved to give Martin's other nipple the same slurping treatment as Martin groaned from deep within his chest. "How amazing you are…" He breathed against it, giving it another nip as Martin practically squeaked. "Martin… _My _Martin…"

Martin practically sobbed at that, feeling his heart swell at such a label. Because he did belong to John. Wonderful John. Loving John. _His_ John.

"My…" Martin breathed, panting as John started moving further down, laving and kissing his jumping stomach. "Mine… My John…!"

"Yours…" John breathed reverently, hands caressing his hips as he nipped the skin around Martin's bellybutton. "Completely yours…"

And then John dipped his tongue into said bellybutton and Martin almost squealed at the sudden shock it sent through him. It was like electricity, but more gentle. Like static that traveled up his spine and then back down, right into his throbbing cock, which rubbed against John's chest now as he continued to practically have sex with his bellybutton by using his _tongue_.

"Oh god…!" Martin moaned, which shifted in pitch at another dip of the tongue. He was practically trying to dry hump John's chest when he finally moved on again, kissing and licking at his lower stomach, even nuzzling the little trail of hair that lead down to the place where Martin _really_ wanted John to go.

But John diverted his attention from Martin's cock, moving to the sides to nip and lick at his hips, then kissing and nuzzling the area where leg met pelvis, his hair tickling his sensitive member and Martin moaned almost too loudly, grasping at John's head as to try and move him to his destination.

Of course John liked to take his time, especially in moments like this, and he merely coaxed Martin's legs open wider as he bowed further down to give his thighs french kisses, causing Martin's hips to buck and twist, because he really shouldn't have such sensitive thighs when John could practically get him to come just from that.

And Martin thought John's tongue on his bellybutton was arousing.

But he got closer, nuzzling the crease where his thigh met his center, giving it a long, languid lick that ripped a whine from Martin's throat, which turned into a sob when John finally, _finally_ moved his tongue there. Well, not quite there, but with John pressing his tongue against his perineum, Martin was satisfied with the burst of pleasure it sent coursing through him. But Martin should've been at least a little embarrassed with the noises he was making. The whines and sobs as John then teased his sac with his mouth, then moving up to nuzzle the hair that surrounded the base of his sex, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize his scent.

"John…" Martin moaned, panting as he scratched at John's scalp. "John… _John_…!"

"What?" John asked, mouth now hovering over Martin's twitching erection, voice deep and husky in a way that just turned Martin on more. "What is it, love?"

"Please…" Martin pleaded. "Oh, please, for the love of _God_!"

There was a moment where he thought he'd have to actually tell John what to do with that mouth of his, but all coherent words vanished when he placed a passionate, love-felt kiss to the tip.

Martin wailed, which grew louder and higher as John's lips moved further down to encase his entire head, then sucking on it hard. Martin's hips bucked and twisted, trying to get further into John's hot, wet mouth, but John's hands were firm on his hips; despite how hard Martin fought in his grasp, he was undaunted in his slow descent over Martin's cock, each move downward sending Martin reeling. He almost protested when John pulled back up, but any of those words died into a choked gasp as John practically inhaled him, nose in his pubic hair as he was swallowed whole.

Martin's hands left John's head, searching for more purchase for fear of choking him. Instead, he dug his fingers into the sheets, twisting and pulling as he felt his whole body convulse at each gulp John took, leaving him gasping and moaning harshly. He whimpered when he was finally pulled from John's throat, but shuddered when John licked it from root to tip, then placed open mouth kisses along the shaft.

Martin was panting heavily now, legs bent as his heels pressed harshly into the bed, causing it to dip. He felt himself reaching dizzying heights of pleasure, but despite that, he felt almost empty. He was still stretched and lubricated from their earlier session, and he knew that John would in no way be able to be aroused enough to get it up again. He almost wanted something there, but it wasn't like he couldn't get off without it.

But just as he was feeling okay with that, he was jolted when two fingers, with blessed and cursed medical precision, pushed deep inside him and pressed up against his prostrate.

Now Martin, aeroplane pilot and captain, one who can speak with authority that no one listens to, now communicated with moans, sobs, and some untranslatable jargon that sounded kind of like him asking John for more, please, but it was hard to tell.

But John seemed to get the message as his lips bobbed around Martin's cock and his fingers thrust into him, pushing and prodding and massaging his prostrate. Martin just grew louder, clutching at sheets to get some purchase as his hips moved in time with John's mouth and fingers. And he was getting close, so close, and fast. He could feel it, like someone set his stomach on fire as he tried to get more, more, just a little _more_.

And then John pulled back, teasing his head with his tongue and Martin wailed, bucking, because he was almost there...

"John! Oh god, John!" Martin managed to garble out, legs shaking as he moved his hands from the sheets to John's shoulders. "Pleaseplease_please_…!"

The fingers were still going, hitting his swollen prostate and sending fresh, hot jolts into his throbbing, leaking erection that John lapped at almost greedily.

He was so close, so very, _very_ close. He just needed one more push…

"Oooh_, Captain_." And that was it.

Martin screamed as he came, John's fingers shoved at his prostate and his mouth engulfed him, swallowing his release. He bucked and clenched as his vision just left him, and all he could feel, see, smell, and taste was pleasure.

And then he blacked out.

Martin Crieff blacked out.

He never blacked out before. Sure, he fell asleep right after, in his early years, but he never experienced something that intense to cause him to just black out.

And the next thing he knew he had a warm, cuddly doctor as a pillow resting under his cheek as he was held by strong arms against a sturdy chest, duvet pulled up to his shoulders and he hummed at the warmth and the feel of a hand stroking his back.

He nuzzled the chest, reveling in the scent of detergent, cologne and just plain John and he grinned when he heard him hum in response.

"You back?" John asked, and Martin could hear the smug grin in his voice. "_Captain_?"

Martin groaned, his spent cock twitching at the memory. "You can never call me that again…"

And then John laughed, that lovely high laugh that Martin couldn't help but respond in kind to.

"It'll definitely be interesting when you go back to work, then." John mused, still snickering.

"Let's just hope that it's only because _you_ say it." Martin said, forcing an arm that felt like it was coated in lead up and around John's waist. "I don't think I'd recover otherwise."

And they snickered about it some more before settling back into the calm silence. Martin let out a deep breath, grin broadening as he felt those kind, caring fingers card through his hair.

How could he have ever doubted John? John, who was so kind and loving? _His_ John, who would never be so selfish as to use someone like that? With the love that practically poured out of him and into Martin. How could he have ever suspected?

"He's like my brother." John said after a long pause, causing Martin to blink and look up at John, who was staring up at the ceiling. "Sherlock, I mean. He's… he's like my brother."

Martin continued to stare at John, petting his side as an urge for him to continue.

"I do have a sister, but we never got along. You probably remember me mentioning her." John continued. "She was always mean to me, picked on me, even before she started drinking, she was a teenager then, by the way. Got the habit from our father. And our mother… well…"

Martin lifted his head a bit to rest his chin on the moving chest, hand stroking him for comfort.

"As I was saying, I never really had that much of a supportive immediate family." John continued. "And Sherlock… Sherlock's like the brother I never had…" He then cringed a bit. "Sometimes he's the brother I never wanted… but he's like my family. Nothing more."

And Martin understood completely. His family wasn't all that supportive either, ostracizing him and leaving him nothing but a clunker of a van and no money. But he had a family, a second family, in MJN Air. Granted, they drove him mad most of the time, but they were there for him, as he was there for them. They were there for each other.

Just like John was there for Sherlock and vice versa.

"I understand." Martin said softly, leaning up and kissing John softly, humming when the hand in his hair tightened gently. "Completely. I do."

And then Martin nestled on top of John's good shoulder, laying a hand over his heart, and breathed John in.

"So…" John mused silently after a while. "Will you wear your uniform for me, then? Since you loved it so much when I called you Captain?"

Martin felt heat blast into his face at the mere thought of it. It would be wrong on so many levels; completely unprofessional. He didn't really have any spares in case something happened.

And yet…

"Only if you wear yours."

"Deal."

Yes, Martin loved John. And now Martin was one hundred percent certain that John loved him back.


End file.
